The Gentleman Caller
by LunaStellaCat
Summary: When Minerva McGonagall got an offer, she turned it turned it down. In fact, she turned it down time and time again, though she never bothered to her gentleman caller why. When Elphinstone Urquhart asked the woman he loved the same old question, he never quite accepted her answer. *This has been beta read by Kerichi (Paige) who has saved my voice and held my hand.
1. The Lost Key

"The Lost Key"

People lied all the time. Physicians told this to their patients on a good day; that was if and when they bothered to talk with them at all. They phrased it differently, of course, which is why most people failed to catch it. Her father visited nearby hospitals in Caithness and its surrounding areas on a regular basis. Of course, when the Reverend McGonagall showed up at the community hospital, he usually greeted death or consoled those who dealt with its aftermath.

Minerva spent a good deal of her life watching her father. She sat in his office while he drafted the following Sunday's sermon. It followed the same pattern of paying bills for the month: there was always the next one. Reverend McGonagall usually kept his three children out of his private domain. They weren't allowed in their parents' bedroom, and they weren't allowed in the manse study. If things got too out of hand or there was a community gathering, he escaped to the church. He allowed her in there, and he eventually bent the rules for the cat. This wasn't for her benefit; the reverend saw his furry friend, George, as one of the family. Provided the cat did his business in his litter box and didn't scratch her father's chair, they got on just fine.

There was a reason ministers survived on a scant salary. God did not provide. Her father raised his three children on almost nothing. Her mother, who never bothered with recording figures in a checkbook register, handled the money in the house. It wasn't that her father couldn't be bothered with it; he handled the church's finances without the help of a secretary or a parishioner. No, it was not faith and prayer that sustained them. The community provided their family with everything from baked goods, to non-perishable foods for the pantry, to warm blankets for the winter. He never had to bother asking for anything.

Although she loved the simple life with her religious family and the close kit community, Minerva knew she needed something more. An owl arrived one day with a job offer; a Ministry official had selected her to work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She started ib August. When she first arrived to London, Minerva found the city a dirty and lonely place. Of course, she had been here for school shopping, but Diagon Alley was separate from the real world. Before she left for the big city, her father told her three things. First, she always had a place to call home. Secondly, if she doubted anyone, the rule of thumb was that a questioner should generally ask a person the same question three times to get to the truth. She found herself repeating the last bit of advice as a daily reminder: a man always started at the bottom before he had any hopes of reaching the top.

She certainly lived on the cheap. Minerva left home with little money, and though she was good at her job, things really hadn't gotten that much better. She had been in London for three months and spent most of her time sticking her nose in law books. The law library, the annex, was an impressive place. The thick volumes rarely attacked each other unless things got intense. They flew around the place and organized themselves by a complex system. The case histories enjoyed shuffling themselves out of order to confuse a scribe or make a researcher lose his or her train of thought. She had spent ten hours with the books today. The volumes and the collections never left the annex, and the place closed its doors when the last candles extinguished themselves and called it a night.

Minerva walked home alone that night. She left the Ministry of Magic sometime around nine-thirty and decided she might as well enjoy taking the visitor entrance. She was considered an employee on probation for the first ninety days, so she didn't have access to the fireplaces in the Atrium or rights to handle anything involving a case unless it was under supervision. They watched her every move. This made Minerva feel self-conscious, thankful and annoyed at the same time. At eighteen, she was fresh from her schooldays at Hogwarts, and they expected her to know nothing. She had yet to touch a real case.

She carried a couple paper grocery bags in her left hand. When she reached Number Nine, her shared flat, she placed the bags at her feet and started looking for her keys, Minerva double checked all of the usual places. It wasn't in her grey handbag, and it wasn't on her person. She and her roommate had meant to cast the Doubling Charm to create a spare key or two, but they had never seemed to get around to it.

She gave up the search and banged on the door. Nobody answered. Tired and worried, she touched the loose strands of hair at the back of her neck. She always wore her hair in a tight bun. Her roommate could arrive home anytime in the next ten minutes or the next few hours. They rarely saw each other, so it was like Minerva had her own place with a reduced rate. Her roommate let freedom go to her head because she was definitely a night owl.

"May I help you?"

Minerva nearly jumped out of her skin and knocked one of the bags over. She almost grabbed her wand, but she stopped herself because she lived among Muggles. That only led to awkward questions. As the man got closer, the almost dead streetlight flickered feebly, and she saw a man dressed in neutral colored robes and polished shoes. He offered his hand. She stood there for a awkward minute before she shook it. He had blonde hair, grey eyes, and a friendly smile. He waved his hand and gestured to the off to the right, casually mentioning that he lived three streets down in a small house on Napier Street The man introduced himself as Elphinstone Urquhart.

She stepped over the brown paper bags to stand on her doorstep. The man didn't go away and fished something out of his pocket. "I locked myself out."

"I can see that." Mr. Urquhart found whatever he was looking for. He fixed something small in the keyhole as he whistled a tune to himself. He twisted it this way and that way until it clicked. An old couple walked past them. He smiled and placed the thing in her hand; it was a hair pin. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, and thanked him when he opened the door. "It works every time."

The man waved her inside. Mr. Urquhart took a few steps back and gathered her bags. She insisted she didn't need the help, but he shook his head as if to say it was nothing. Minerva closed the door behind them. The only hint of Christmas decoration was a sad bunch of mistletoe that hung over the doorway. After he followed her into the organized old fashioned galley kitchen, Mr. Urquhart deposited the bags on the counter and performed a non-verbal Summoning Charm. The brass key zoomed into his open hand. Minerva took it, feeling rather stupid that the idea hadn't occurred to her while she stood out there in the cold. He helped her put away the groceries and laughed when he put the vanilla ice cream in the freezer.

"It's December. Normal people have hot chocolate or hot cocoa ." He folded the brown paper bags.

"They are not the same thing," she said, opening the cabinets and searching for the set of large mugs. She took him up on his suggestion. "Would you like some? I have a homemade cocoa mix. There's an old woman who sends the stuff out in bulk to my father's congregation.

Mr. Urquhart hesitated for a moment. He thanked her and took off his traveling cloak. He draped it over a wooden chair and scratched the fat Siamese cat that jumped on the dining room table. He was familiar with cats because he scratched it behind the ears and under the chin. "Your father's a reverend? I like this cat. They're usually not this friendly."

"Yes, he's been the vicar back home for almost twenty years. This is Simon. He's friendly with everyone." Minerva got the cat fresh water and opened the food cabinet. Simon darted over to her and chowed down on his late night dinner. She knelt down and talked to the cat and patted his head. "He was my birthday present from my brothers."

"He's got beautiful blue eyes." Mr. Urquhart watched the cat.

"He's a Siamese cat," she said. All Siamese cats had blue eyes; it was a mark of the breed. She found a saucepan and lit the gas burner with the tip of her wand. The milk warmed in no time. She lived in a Muggle flat and felt comfortable with all of the appliances. Minerva talked about her father and the community, which explained why she felt comfortable around Muggles. She poured healthy measures into the mugs and scooped heaps of whipped cream on top. She messed up and licked the leftover dollop off her finger. "Cinnamon?"

"No, thank you, I'm allergic to it." He thanked her, smiling when she added the soft peppermint stick as a final touch and sat down to join him at the table. It was five days until Christmas. "Are you going home for the holidays?"

"No. I want to work on the mock trial. I realized yesterday I was on the wrong path, so I'm back at square one. I need to draft a request for an appeal by the third of January. I have no idea what I'm doing." She stopped herself and took a drink. She'd make a second mistake tonight. She stared at the neutral colored wall. "And you're my boss. I should not have said that."

Mr. Urquhart patted her hand. "You want to hear a sad story?"

Minerva laughed. "Who says yes to that, sir?"

"It'll make you feel better, I promise." Mr. Urquhart stirred his drink with the soft peppermint stick. He gathered his thoughts for a minute and sipped his hot cocoa. "I'm not supposed to ask this of a woman; my mother would rise from her grave and give me a swift talking to."

Minerva scratched Simon behind his ears when he jumped onto her lap. He fell asleep. "She sounds nice."

"Oh, she wasn't." He laughed darkly and dismissed the past with a wave of his hand. "That's neither here nor there. How old are you?"

"Eighteen." She got to her feet, took his mug, and grabbed another round.

"Wow." This sounded like it came as something of a shock. Perhaps he had thought she was older, although Minerva couldn't figure out how the man had reached that conclusion. Whatever the case, it was obvious the visitor felt as though he had read the situation wrong. Mr. Urquhart passed his hand over his face and checked the time on his ancient pocket watch. He turned down the second cup. His attitude switched in an instant, and he sounded annoyed with himself and grabbed his traveling cloak off the chair. He started towards the door and Minerva followed him, wiping her hands hurriedly on a dishtowel. "I started at the Ministry twenty-one years ago. I-I spelt my name wrong on my first big case. It's recorded throughout the history of iTravers v. Borgin\i. You're a girl. I should go."

Mr. Urquhart said good night. When he reached the pavement, he walked back to her with a determined expression. Minerva asked him if he forgot something, but she found it difficult to finish the question because he distracted her. He stroked her face and kissed her. It was soft and slow. Minerva noticed his eyes weren't just grey. The shade was the shade, of course, but his friendly smile extended into his eyes. She saw something there. Their lips parted and he pulled her closer and kissed her deeper. It felt natural, even though he had taken her by surprise. It felt like she could do this day in and day out like it was a natural routine.

"It's not a mock trial. I stopped by to tell you I handpicked you for this case." They broke apart. Mr. Urquhart caught a strand of her dark hair and tucked it behind her ear. "This never happened. You have a good holiday. Good night."

She nodded. Minerva watched him disappear as he turned the corner. _What just happened?_ She closed the door and scooped up the cat before he made a move for an escape. She locked the door and slid onto the floor. _What did it mean?_ She bought her fingers to her lips, confused and lost. The farmer's son, Dougal, never kissed her like that. Mr. Urquhart smelled like a familiar aftershave, though she couldn't recall the brand. _Did their kiss mean anything?_ She tried to keep it from her thoughts, because after all, this never happened.


	2. The Scottish Girl

Elphinstone walked home felling an immense feeling of satisfaction. He had always been the awkward man out, a man who viewed his world from the outside and chose to not act on his impulses or his emotions. Wait, a voice in the back of his mind always told him, because something or someone else was bound to come along. He stood on the edge of a knife when it came to any decision. In probate court, should a lawyer go with blue robes or black? When did a lawyer cross the line between acting as a professional or snubbing his clients with his law education because, at the end of the day, he would pocket a lot of gold? When it came to women, he acted like a schoolboy with no experience trying to play a game he knew nothing about.

The initial high, the rush, he felt from taking the first move, wore off as soon as he opened his front door. It got worse when stretched out on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Here's what had happened, he thought, seeing this playback in his mind from another perspective. Any normal person would have seen this from the start, but he was a clueless idiot. He'd followed a girl home in the dead of night.

As he had interviewed her earlier that week, a meeting that had taken just a couple precious minutes. She, of course, had no reason to remember him. The first month at the Ministry of Magic usually passed as a blur of faces and an ongoing list of names. Names and titles. It had been nothing more than a hello. This is who I am. I specialize in this or that. In Elphinestone's case, of course, he specialized in this and that. (His areas were real estate and wills, trusts and estates.) These are the rules, so, please, for the love of God, don't mess up because it reflects badly on me. Welcome to the team.

Elphinstone had welcomed about twenty nobodies to his team that day. On that first day, as a Muggle friend of his put it, they looked like deer caught in the headlights. Elphinstone did not know what headlights were exactly, but it seemed to fit. He actually got bored after the sixth interview; a freckled boy with spectacles-who looked like he needed a hug or a stiff drink.

But then this girl walked in and sat down in his wooden chair. She'd worn plain black robes and tied her dark hair back in a ridiculously tight bun. His grandmother, a no nonsense, formidable woman would have been proud. Well, at least she would have held her tongue for a minute. The young girl gave her name. Her voice gave her away as Scottish. Elphinstone said something in Gaelic in an attempt to break the ice in case she was nervous. If she'd understood, Minerva McGonagall gave no hint that she thought this small talk mattered. She sat there and gave the right answers. When he stood and shook her hand, there was no shock, no fireworks, or whatever came during these moments, but he'd felt something there.

He'd read through her file in his office later that night three times. That's how he knew where she lived. He lived on Napier Street; he lived within walking distance of this girl. When he'd read that, another jolt swept through him. There was a connection, and he could get his foot in the door. In reality, he realized as he played this whole scenario back through his mind, by definition, he had stalked her. Yes, he was that man.

He covered his face with his hands, and the girl's face was all he could see. She spoke to him like an old friend, yet they had just met. While he had been talking to her in her rundown flat, he kept staring at her. He'd actually convinced himself that she'd been a transfer shuffled over from some other Ministry department. And that kiss. Elphinstone had to physically stop himself from crossing the line before an innocent kiss lead to a regret in the morning.

"This is not happening. You're a fool." Elphinstone talked himself through this. People who lived alone talked to themselves. It was a sad truth, and he needed to hear this aloud. If nobody pointed it out, he needed to put the thoughts into words. He walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He followed the same routine every night out of habit. He took one look at himself in the mirror, and another thought occurred it him; it was far from a comforting one. "I could be this girl's father, and I'm going to see her after the holidays. Damn it."

Switching from confidence, to self-revulsion, to just plain awkward in an hour's time left him feeling drained. After talking a cold shower and eating a sad dinner, he went to bed. Elphinstone felt sure that going through all this would surely prep him for a good night's sleep. It didn't happen. He lay there in his dressing gown, and he thought about the girl; he got up and paced around his flat, and he thought about the girl. He got up the next morning after swinging back and forth between his two insomnia fallbacks, and he thought about the girl.

Elphinstone initially went with his self-protective instinct: In early January when he stepped onto a lift, he saw her and he decided to pretend it simply never happened. What happened? He went home after a long day at work and he had trouble getting to sleep. That was his story and he stuck to it until Minerva asked him a legal question when she stepped into the office, and she unconsciously did that thing where she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Elphinstone crossed that plan off his mental list and racked his brain for another approach. Instead of focusing on his plea to the court, he slipped into diversion tactics like some awkward lanky teenager. He'd left Hogwarts, right? He was a grown man and a top notch lawyer.

"You want to ask yourself why the defendant acted the way he did," he said softly, trying to ignore the fact that they were sharing a lift alone. The back of their hands touched. He stared at the grilles. The tactics popped in his mind as a list he learned ages ago. He attempted to sound bored and uninterested. "Question. Approach. Respond. Analyze. Reconsider. Spin a story. That sort of thing."

"Thank you, sir." Minerva stepped off the lift first. She disappeared down the corridor and shuffled her papers.

"You're welcome." He spoke to himself when she left and almost forgot they worked on the same floor. She worked for him.

Elphinstone could have punched himself. What was he doing? She had actually taken his advice about pretending that night had never happened, and here he was, feeding a newcomer his best stuff! He'd spent over twenty years crafting these practices and these skills into a fine science. Around three o'clock in the afternoon, he read through the case analyses in his office. It was a tradition. Whichever new hopeful drafted the best approach on the given case got to join him and see the whole thing through to the end. It was a blind reading. They were not allowed to sign their names to their reports; the reports were not allowed to be longer than a single roll of parchment. While they talked like long winded fools who never shut up, lawyers appreciated brevity.

The researchers stood together in the main office. Elphinstone showed them a plain large envelope. "Who is 5683? The afterthought defense?"

Nobody spoke up at first. The researchers glanced around at each other; some of looked completely lost. After a moment, Minerva McGonagall raised her hand in the back. She spoke confidently and stood behind her work. "That's mine."

iOf course?i, thought Elphinstone, smiling at her. "Miss McGonagall focused on the facts and cut through the irrelevant details in the case file. The fact that Mr. Hawkins was married three times and failed to pay child support? It might make him delinquent, but it has nothing to do with the murder charge. He simply went back into that Muggle shop after he'd realized that he'd forgotten his wallet. The photographs of the children in the said wallet mean nothing."

"It will if the prosecution makes something out of it," a thin man standing in the front of the group said when everyone else keep their mouths shut.

Elphinstone reached inside his robes and handed Minerva his own black leather wallet. "What's in there?"

She stood there, confused, and tucked one foot behind the other. When Elphinstone nodded to her, she opened the wallet and checked its contents. "A passport, a receipt for a Calming Draught, and currency." Minerva counted the coins in her hand before she slid them back into the sleeve. A few people laughed at her. "You have fifteen Galleons, six Sickles, and five Knuts. There's a photograph of a small girl with blonde hair and green eyes. That's all."

"Thank you." He took his wallet back and waved it in the air. "Sounds pretty boring, doesn't it? I ask you. Does that make me a murderer?"

"It depends. Is the girl living?" The outspoken researcher threw his assumption back at him.

"Very good. That turned dark quick, " said Elphinstone, taken aback. He had not expected this question to arise so quickly. The man made the connection easily. "Yes, she's alive and well, I assure you. She lives in Hogsmeade. Who are you?"

"Benji Fenwick. I'm in Mr. Crouch's service." The man crossed his arms. "I'm not saying it's right; I'm saying it's a possible angle for the prosecution to paint a pretty picture. It's an approach we, as the defense, should expect to attack in counter argument. I'd hate to say it, but let's say Mr. Travers killed those people. So what? The man is still entitled to draft a will, and he deserves to have it executed. He has a right to give his property to whoever he wants."

"After the Ministry inspects the contents of the estate for thirty days," Minerva added.

"Mr. Fenwick, you just earned yourself a seat in Courtroom Seven." Elphinstone had not thought of this. He gave Benji an approving nod when he joined them. Elphinstone addressed the gathered researchers. "Thank you all for your submissions. That's it."

Minerva and Benji followed Elphinstone into his office. Elphintone conjured a chair He usually only had only one in the small space. Benji took the first chair, and Elphinstone held the other chair for Minerva. Elphinstone had a comfortable chair behind his desk, but he did his best thinking on his feet, so he started his usual pacing. Benji and Minerva exchanged introductions and congratulated each other.

Elphinstone tossed the envelope onto the desk as he walked back and forth. "Talk to me."

"Mr. Travers won't be able to head to probate until after the murder trial, right?" Minerva placed her hands in her lap. "One decision follows the other."

"Correct." Elphinstone took his pipe out from the inside of his robes and passed it from one hand to the other one. "And why is this important?"

Benji said nothing. Minerva shook her head "I don't know, sir."

"Yes, you do." Elphinstone refused to let her out that easily. If she did not know, she had to show him that she had exhausted all options. 'I don't know' stood out as a legitimate answer, yet she was going to have to tell him why. Elphinstone decided to slip in a little were brand new researchers, after all, and they would essentially be sponges soaking up knowledge and histories over the next year. "Okay. Let's say your grandmother stole - I don't know - the latest autobiography of Albus Dumbledore from Flourish and Blotts, but she had dragon pox and is knocking on death's door. Granny's got an estate worth ten thousand Galleons. If you're a benefactor or the personal representative, what're you going to do? We like Granny."

"Does Albus Dumbledore have an autobiography?" Benji scratched the side of his nose.

"I don't know! That's not the point." Elpinstone looked out of his window. The Department of Magical Maintenance had chosen grey skies and a downpour as today's weather.

"It matters because probate can grant an extension which helps towards a stay of execution," said Minerva, playing with a loose strand that had escaped her tight bun. She looped it around her finger . She paused, rested her chin on her hand, and rephrased her answer because she'd answered it like a Muggle. "It delays a Dementor's Kiss."

Elphinstone clapped her on the shoulder. Minerva turned around to face him and raised her eyebrows, clearly shocked she'd landed on the right answer. He could not help himself; he grinned at her. Though it had been a long, long time ago, he remembered what it felt like to be a newcomer. "You're not expected to know the answer. Funny how that happens, eh?"

"Funny," said Minerva. Elphinstone thought she blushed. She ignored Benji's soft laughter and faced forward and sat up straighter.

"You, sir. I'm going to steal you from Mr. Daniel Crouch's service. He's got a son to do his bidding." Elphinstone turned to Benji and offered him his hand. "What say you?"

"It sounds good to me." Benji shook his hand; he had a firm grip.

"Done. I've always wanted to steal someone from the prosecution. What fun!" Elphinstone walked over to his desk and tapped his wand on the mahogany surface. A roll of parchment filled in with the transfer request appeared there. He unscrewed an ink bottle and fished a quill out of his desk drawer. After filling out a few of the details, Elphinstone turned the parchment with a quick flick of his wrist so that it faced Benji. He tapped the quill on the document. "You sign here, here, and here. Sign your life away to me, please and thank you."

"Okay, boss." Benji signed the document in the intended places and read through the document carefully. When he was finished, he handed the quill back to Elphinstone. "I'm curious, sir. Why real estate and wills, trusts and estates?"

"Well, death comes sooner or later, and the living need a roof over their 's job security." Elphinstone, who had been rereading the request upside down, glanced up at Minerva when she coughed. He took a step back and recanted his last statement, for he feared he'd accidentally offended her. He shrugged and added his signature to the document in a flourish. "I wanted a challenge with real estate, and then I wanted another one, so I took my shot. Never be afraid to go after what you want, because the worse they can tell you is no."

"And if they say no?" Minerva reached out to touch her folder on the desk.

"You bide your time and reorganize your approach, miss," said Elphinstone, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. Minerva took it. He tucked the loose strand behind her ear, catching a lingering scent of lavender. Maybe it was shampoo. As Benji sat there absorbed in his rereading of this service contract, Elphinstone pulled her closer and whispered the answer in her ear. "It's simple. You ask again. Fix whatever's broken or tackle the problem from another angle. Never settle."

She flushed with color. So, he hadn't imagined it. "Mr. Urquhart."

"What's furlough?" Benji looked up from the parchment.

Minerva dropped her hand and stepped back from him. She stared at the window.

Elphinstone checked the time on his pocket watch; it was a quarter past five in the afternoon. He'd accidentally kept them late. He held the door open for them. "It's a leave of absence. Don't worry. It rarely happens. Well, it looks like we're done for the day. Thank you both for your hard work. I know this wasn't easy because we threw you in the deep end, but you both are doing very well. This case should be fun. I look forward to it."

Benji exited quickly. Minerva draped her handbag over her shoulder and stood there

Benji exited quickly. Minerva draped the strap of her handbag over a shoulder and stood, eyes flickering between Elphinstone and the open doorway, clearly trying to decide whether to stay or go.

He took a chance and shut the door.

"What are you doing? she asked as he reached out to draw her close.

"You'll figure it out." He took her by the hand and placed his other one on her lower back. "You're far more intelligent than my cousin, who stepped right, left, and right when she was supposed to step left, right and left during dance class." Elphinstone hummed, "Da-da-da dum dum. Plink, plink. Plink, plink."

"My father loved Strauss," Minerva said, surprising him with how well she danced. "The waltz used to be scandalous, but now it's deemed proper enough for a minister's daughter."

The furniture made their dance a little strange, and Elphinstone had to hum because there was no wireless to play music, yet neither of them cared about the small details. At the end, Minerva laughed softly when he spun her around.

"I bet you didn't expect that from some old man who used to be in Slytherin," he said, holding her close. "I know how to Tango, if you're interested in learning. It's very relaxing."

Minerva took his face in her hands. Elphinstone suddenly felt self-conscious. There were hints of wrinkles on his face, and white peeked through his blonde hair. He waited for her to drop her hands and walk away, but she pressed her lips to his with the boldness of a Gryffindor.

"Good night. I'll think about the dance lessons." She picked up her handbag again and secured it in place. She tucked the envelope with her research under her arm. "You're really not what I expected, you know. You're … you're different."

"Oh, really? You expected some fat old man with a God complex? Want to know the secret?" He tapped his foot as a grin spread across his face and he came up with answer on the spot. "It's the feet. I have fancy feet."

She shook her head, but her eyes gleamed with amusement. "You're a fool, sir. Good night."

Elphinstone sighed when the heavy doors closed. He ought to back out of this before things got messy and complicated. There were countless reasons why he ought to leave her alone, but he did not want to turn her away because he felt something there. If this ended badly one day, and chances were it probably would, he'd gladly shoulder the consequences to share his life with someone special.


End file.
